


not giving in.

by heartshapedcookie, heereandqueer



Category: Person Of Interest - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Swearing, ben loves his bf so much, hailey and i created this and we love it, mentions of drug abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 23:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13258668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartshapedcookie/pseuds/heartshapedcookie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/heereandqueer/pseuds/heereandqueer
Summary: It’s getting late and Ethan isn’t home yet. Ben is justifiably worried.





	not giving in.

**Author's Note:**

> im @tinylittle-femalechrist on tumblr and me and @connormurphweed created Ben whom we love

He had called the station three times and was angrily punching in the digits again—anticipating the same curt, absurdly unhelpful receptionist and berating himself for being so damn obstinate that he would deal with her yet again—when he remembered the pills.

Ceramic-cold dread pooled in his gut; a sour sweat surged to the surface of his skin. He had forgotten about the pills during his initial rush of panic, after waking up from his well-deserved nap and realizing that Ethan had never texted back after calling to cancel their lunch plans and coming  
to the gut-punching conclusion that something had happened to Ethan. The pills had gotten lost in the shuffle, but now Ben pictured them with piercing clarity. Ethan thought he was being so damn subtle when he crammed the bottle into the pocket of that disgusting hoodie he refused to wash, even though Ben had made it abundantly clear that he was aware of Ethan’s dependence on the tiny capsules to power him through a long, demanding day. He could always see the white cap peeking out of his pocket, that laughing wink of plastic.

Ben stood suddenly, his nerves a riot of sick, singing terror. Ethan was smart, smarter than him—not that he would ever admit it and give that asshole the satisfaction—but he was notoriously forgetful when he was stressed and miring himself in a dizzying tangle of mathematics and algorithms and whatever the fuck else went on at the station. It wasn’t at all implausible for Ethan to overdose, paying no attention to how many pills rattled into his palm because his eyes were fixed on his screen and just choking them down without a second thought and spiraling down into an eternal sleep. 

“Oh, God,” Ben said aloud, almost dropping his phone as a shudder raked through his body. Of course that was why Ethan wasn’t answering his phone and the receptionist didn’t know where he was—

you should see someone about this you should get some help

—but it was just like Ethan to never seek help, to soldier through life without risking his pride or the deep insecurities it masked. He had taken too many pills and was unconscious somewhere, probably in the bathroom of the Starbucks he insisted on pouring money into even though Ben railed against them supporting mega-corporations and ragged on him about visiting the local cafe just a block away for organically and humanely sourced coffee. Ben could picture him with nauseating clarity, slumped against the wall with those unkempt bangs dancing across his sweat-studded brow and the laughing wink of plastic in his pocket, relieved of its contents.

“Fuck.” He frantically dialed 911. His eyes burned ominously with the onset of tears and there was a lump like his aunt’s horrifically dry curry sitting in his throat, but his hands remained steady because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his boyfriend was dying of a drug overdose and that if he dialed for help now—

like ethan never would

—he could find him and transport him to a hospital before those pills could whisk him away.

“Hello? I’d like to report—”

The front door lock clicked open.

Ben dropped his phone this time, deaf to the tinny greeting of the first responder. That click and jiggle was intimately familiar: Ethan had graduated summa cum laude from MIT, but he still had difficulty remembering which way to turn the key in the lock and invariably took several tries to finally pry the door open. Ethan was opening the door, which meant Ethan was here, which meant Ethan was alive.

A swell of relief ricocheted through him, rooting him to his spot in the middle of the kitchen. He was justifiably irritated at Ethan for not answering his phone or at least giving him an idea of where he was, but his attempts at projecting an air of agitation curdled and a relieved smile cracked his annoyed facade. He couldn’t wait to prey upon Ethan’s guilt and manipulate him into watching all of the political talk shows he had saved on their duct tape-armored DVR.

The door swung open and Ethan walked in, hands shoved into the pockets of that abomination of a hoodie. Ben opened his mouth to greet him with something just angry enough to remind him that disappearing without a text was not acceptable human behavior, but humorous enough to soften the blow, only for his jaw to slacken at the sight of blood splatters spangling the knees of Ethan’s ill-fitting jeans. 

Ethan looked tired. He always did, given he treated sleep like a casual hobby and put an unhealthy amount of faith in the powers of caffeine, but the dark circles underscoring his vein-laced eyes were especially prominent. His scruff-sanded cheeks were famished and sallow. Ben’s heart cramped viciously, his half-retired panic returning. 

“Ethan?”

A pale imitation of his cocky smile tugged weakly on his lips. “I was—“ His eyes suddenly flared with tears and he choked, wrapping his arms around his chest to steady himself.

Ben was at his side immediately, locking his arms around Ethan’s body and holding him against his sturdy frame. As terrifying as it was for his stubborn boyfriend to lapse suddenly into a sobbing fit after disappearing for almost an entire day, he couldn’t help but relish the warmth and solidity of the man in his arms. He had been so worried, so certain that he would never get to hold him again unless he had been allotted a final embrace after the paramedics pronounced him dead. Trembling lightly, Ben buried his face into Ethan’s tumbled locks and inhaled deeply. He smelled like coffee and gun smoke and unwashed hair, at once strange and beautifully familiar. 

He knew better than to ask what had happened. As much as he longed to know what had broken down his boyfriend like this (partly because of his journalistic instincts, partly because he wanted to beat the absolute shit out of whoever had done this to him), Ben wasn’t going to press the issue while he was still so clearly exhausted and afraid. He just held him, slowly tracing a soothing hand down the arch of his back in the hopes that it might ground him. 

Eventually, the tears ebbed and Ben felt Ethan shifting in his arms, trying to extricate himself from the hug. Ben started to let go, only to remember the chest-crushing terror he had felt mere minutes before and cling desperately to his boyfriend; Ethan didn’t protest. Ben might have been comically bad at math, but he was sharp enough to calculate the amount of time Ethan had been awake and he wasn’t too pleased with his results. He needed sleep.

“C’mon,” Ben said softly, pressing a kiss into his messy hair. He walked Ethan into their bedroom, which was still untidy and cluttered from their misguided and ultimately fruitless attempt to get some laundry done on Thursday. Moving quickly, Ben sat him on the bed, wrestled his battered and frankly disgusting Converse off of his feet, and pulled the blankets over him. It was disturbing to see Ethan so obedient and quiet, so much so that Ben almost wished Ethan would put up a fight or at least lob a few curses his way. 

“Ben…” Ethan was already half-asleep, so emotionally and physically spent that he couldn’t even bring himself to stave off slumber like he did every other night. Ben couldn’t remember the last time Ethan had actually gone to sleep before him; he was accustomed to Ethan tapping away on his laptop into the early hours of the morning, the rhythmic typing and occasional murmur of frustration lulling Ben to sleep. 

“I’m right here, Ethan. Just go to sleep, yeah? I’m not going anywhere,” Ben said, pushing Ethan’s hectic bangs out of his eyes. He probably should’ve gotten him to shower or at least change out of that ratty hoodie and the bloodstained jeans, but he didn’t want to chance exhausting him any further. Besides, Ethan was a pro at sleeping in his clothes.

Ethan blinked, then instantly fell asleep. It would have been endearing had Ben not been completely baffled and more than a little concerned. He considered rooting through Ethan’s pockets for the pill bottle, but decided against it after catching another glimpse of his boyfriend’s undereye circles. Peace. He would give Ethan peace tonight.

Ben crawled into bed next to him, lacing an arm around his limp form. Ethan mumbled something incoherent before shuffling deeper into the covers; Ben rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. Tomorrow would be difficult: he wanted so badly to know what happened and he would probably end up prying because he had never been good at letting things slide. He would have to get Ethan out of his head, into the shower, back into bed. They would have to talk about the pills because Ben’s heart couldn’t take another second of fearing Ethan wasn’t coming home.

But for right now, Ben was just glad to have Ethan in his arms. That was more than enough.


End file.
